


bleak

by Snickfic



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Minnesota Wild, Mpreg, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-09-24 11:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17100050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/pseuds/Snickfic
Summary: People had the wrong idea about werewolves. They weren’t humans with tails and fur. They’d been people once and would, in most cases, be people again, but at heart a werewolf was a wolf.





	bleak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sleeperservice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeperservice/gifts).



> I meant this to have less angst and more belly appreciation, but here we are. I hope you enjoy, dear recip. <3

The sky was clear and bright, and the air was bitterly cold, far below freezing, so that the road wasn’t slick but instead a little bit sticky on the car tires. The studs made a steady clatter on the asphalt. Mikko passed a road sign and glanced in the rear view mirror to where Mikael was drowsing on the back seat. “We’ll be there soon,” Mikko said. Mikael opened his eyes and gently wagged his tail. 

They passed through the center of town, past the grocery store and hardware store, two gas stations, a feed store, a church, a post office. Leftover Christmas lights hung from the eaves of houses. A string spiraling around a bush had been left on, glowing through the snow that had fallen since.

As they left the outskirts of town, Mikko’s phone came to life, telling him to turn right. The second turn took them onto a road of packed snow. The third turn was into a driveway, sloping gently downhill, and a minute later, Mikko parked to the side of the cabin. It looked much the same as the Airbnb photos except for all the snow. “Well, here we are,” he said, unnecessarily. He often found himself saying the obvious these days, just to hear the sound of his own voice. Mikael thumped his tail against the seat leather.

It was Mikko, of course, who carried in the luggage and the groceries. The nice Airbnb hostess he’d spoken with had offered to stock up, but he’d explained that his companion was on a special diet. Now he lugged the coolers inside, each full of meat—enough to feed a wolf for five days, with a steak or two left over for Mikko.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” he asked Mikael. The place was exactly what he’d looked for: cozy, not too large. Huge rag rugs covered the floors, and the walls of the living room were paneled a warm, blonde wood. There was a wood stove in one corner, set on a stone base. The sliding glass window looked out on a field of snow that stretched as far as he could see. In the pictures, this had been a huge green yard sloping down gently down to the lake, but that was frozen over now.

“Do you want to go outside?” Mikko asked. Mikael huffed. It was not really an answer. 

People had the wrong idea about werewolves. They weren’t humans with tails and fur. They’d been people once and would, in most cases, be people again, but at heart a werewolf was a wolf. Mikael put up with car rides and t-bone steaks instead of deer caught fresh on the hoof, but he was still ultimately a wolf with a wolf’s instincts and modes of communication. Mikko was not even positive that Mikael always understood him anymore. Or perhaps Mikael just didn’t care enough to try.

Mikael trotted past him to the glass door and stared out onto the snow, sparkling in the sunshine. Then he glanced back at Mikko with large, yellow eyes. 

“Well, that’s what we got the place for, isn’t it?” Mikko said. It took him a couple of moments to get the door latch unstuck, and then he had to remove the wooden rod from the tray so the door would open. Mikael immediately slipped out and went bounding into the snow. He nearly disappeared in it. Only his tail and the black tips of his ears were visible above it between jumps. He barked once, perhaps back at Mikko. Mikko imagined he said something like, _It’s great, you should come out, too!_

But Mikko was not a werewolf, so he closed the door, went back to the kitchen, and began to put the groceries away. It was noon when he’d finished with that. He ate a protein bar to keep the hunger at bay and went to work making marinating the steak. Four and a half days stretched out in front of him, with no hockey nor social obligations except for occasionally scritching Mikael under the chin. He had all the time in the world to cook exactly what he liked, exactly how he liked it.

Mikko had just put the potatoes in the oven when Mikko heard the clatter of wolf claws against the glass door. Mikko opened the door just enough to say, “Come around front.” He gestured, too, for clarity. Mikael went bounding off around the side of the house. At the front door, Mikko convinced Mikael to shake off a good deal of the snow sticking to his fur—not all of it, but still an improvement.

“Was it nice?” Mikko asked as he let Mikael inside. Mikael barked, just the once. He shook himself again, splattered the entryway with snow that melted instantly upon contact with the walls and tile floor, and then trotted deeper into the house. Mikko found him curled up on a rug with a line of sight to the kitchen.

It was one-thirty when Mikko plated lunch for himself. “Do you want some?” he asked Mikael, like he always did. Mikael huffed softly and remained where he was, his head on his paws.

Mikko took a nap after lunch. Why not? He had nowhere to go and nothing in particular he needed to do. He had no plans to make here, and the future approaching him at full tilt felt temporarily on pause. He stretched out in flannel sheets under a patchwork quilt full of triangles and closed his eyes. The house was very still. In his neighborhood there were usually road sounds during the day, the sharp report of a shovel blade on concrete, voices. Something. Here there was no other person for a long ways, perhaps for several miles. It wasn’t as though lake cabins were particularly popular this time of year, except for the snowmobile and cross-country ski crowds. He might as well have been completely alone.

The thought was cold, like he’d swallowed an ice cube and now it was lodged in his throat. He lay still and dwelled on soothing things, on line changes and set plays, until his thoughts grew warm and dark and quiet.

\--

Mikael found Mikko in the kitchen one late afternoon in September, just home from a visit with a couple of the local wolves. Marguerite and Leif’s pack had taken Mikael in when he was a spooked, shy rookie, and they’d become family. Mikael always looked a little happier, coming back from a lunch date with one of them.

That was all Mikko thought it was, that soft warmth Mikael seemed to glow with. Mikko smiled to see it, helplessly, the way Mikael so often made him smile. Staalsy liked to tease Mikko about what a softie he was turning into in his old age. But Mikael pressed himself directly into Mikko’s side and said, 

“You remember what I told you, right, about me? That I can get pregnant.”

“Yes, I—oh.” Mikko pulled away to look at Mikael, to inspect him for what evidence, Mikko could not have said. Yet the evidence was there: that joyous light in Mikael’s eyes. “Oh,” Mikko said softly. 

“I thought maybe, so I talked to Leif, and he said—” Mikael took a quiet breath. There was a quiver in it. “He said yeah. He could smell it on me.”

“Mikael.” Mikko stroked along Mikael’s side. He wanted to touch Mikael’s belly, but he couldn’t, somehow, any more than he could look at the idea itself head-on. It was too bright; it was blinding.

Mikael squeezed Mikko’s hand. “Yeah. I know we were going to wait, and I’ll have to be out part of the season. It’s not really how we planned it.”

Mikko would worry about that later. Or not at all, perhaps. That would be Chuck’s problem, wouldn’t it? Not Mikko’s. “A baby,” he said, testing out the word. They _had_ talked about it, as a distant, far-off thing. Not so distant, now. “A baby,” he repeated.

\--

Mikko woke to late-afternoon dimness and a heavy weight wedged up against his legs. He struggled upright to find Mikael stretched out next to him. In that moment Mikko’s smile came easily, effortlessly. “Hello, Mikael,” he said softly. He stroked along Mikael’s side. Mikael’s winter fur was heavy and thick, sufficient to keep him relatively comfortable in temperatures well below freezing, which was why Mikko kept the thermostat low these days and wore his sweaters double-layered.

Mikael's fur was so thick, in fact, that even now Mikko would not have noticed the extra weight Mikael was carrying in his belly, if he hadn’t known to look for it. Mikko stroked over the slight swell just forward of Mikael’s haunches. Mikael whuffed softly.

“Soon, eh?” Mikko said. Five more weeks, give or take, and then: a baby. A wolf-shaped baby for the first few months, unless Mikael chose to give birth in human form, which he wouldn’t, because that was a much more difficult labor for parent and child both. Mikko would not wish that for them. He’d swallowed down many selfish wishes in the past weeks, but not that one. Only—

“Time for dinner?” he asked Mikael. Mikael stood and hopped off the bed, making a heavy thump on the floor. Even on his best behavior, a wolf was hard on indoor furnishings. Mikko fully expected to pay for additional damages, even on top of the sizable security deposit for his “large dog.”

Mikael ate his dinner of raw meat with enthusiasm and then looked to Mikko for more. Mikko had thought hockey players had large appetites, but they had nothing on wolves. Mikael would happily eat until his sides bulged and then spend the next two days sleeping it off.

But not tonight. “We only have a few days here,” Mikko told him. “You should enjoy them.”

Mikael shoved against Mikko’s legs heavily enough to knock him over, if Mikko hadn’t braced for it.

After dinner, Mikko watched an east coast game with Mikael’s head in his lap. He scratched behind Mikael’s ears and narrated the play, since Mikael’s eyes had trouble following the action on a screen, and he generally didn’t bother to try. How much could a wolf possibly care about hockey anyway? “Soon you’ll be back out there,” Mikko told him. Mikael didn’t respond.

At second intermission, Mikael hopped off the couch and looked longingly out the back door. Mikko put on his mittens and boots again. He opened the door, watching Mikael run straight into the dark. Mikko stepped out and slid the door shut behind him. In the sunshine the temperature had risen to not much below freezing, but it had dropped considerably since nightfall.

Mikko squinted into the night, searching for the tell-tale flash of Mikael’s white underbelly, but he’d gone beyond the radius of the porch light.

It was the cold that stung Mikko’s eyes and made them water. He looked out onto the field of snow and breathed in air that seemed to freeze in his lungs, which made his breath hitch oddly. The lake was frozen silent. Any owls must have been snug in their hidey-holes, any deer bedded down. There was no sound at all except from Mikko himself. His breath refused to steady, and his eyes kept watering. The chill lodged in his chest, aching and hollow, and then it felt as if he couldn’t breathe at all.

When Mikko felt the nudge at his knee, he startled backwards and nearly fell into the doorframe. When he’d found his feet again, there Mikael was, looking up at Mikko with sharp yellow eyes. “Inside?” Mikko asked, only it was more of a croak. He slid the door open. Mikael didn’t move. “Well?” Mikko said, too sharp. “Out or in?”

Fuck, he sounded like he was talking to a fussy cat—to a pet.

“Fuck,” he said, voice cracking. “Do you want to go out or in, Mikael? Which is it?” His eyes were full of tears, and when had that happened? “Well, I’m going in. Do what you want.” And he walked through the door, leaving it open for whenever his pregnant werewolf boyfriend decided he wanted to come inside.

He ended up in bedroom. He didn’t know how he got there. His nose was clogged and his eyes burned, and he couldn’t catch his breath.

\--

“It’s easier when I’m a wolf,” Mikael said, eyes downcast, shoulders rounded in. “Something about being pregnant. I don’t know. Things are too—bright? Loud? I get—fuck.”

“You think I didn’t know my partner was a werewolf?” Mikko asked gently. Mikael lifted his gaze at last. His eyes had a wet sheen to them, and Mikko’s heart twisted. He reached across the table and squeezed Mikael’s hand.

“I didn’t think it would be this hard. I just feel wrong like this, all the time.”

“Then you should be in the form that feels right,” Mikko said.

“I’ll still be here,” Mikael said, as if to convince Mikko. “And I can—sometimes, you know? I know it’s not the same for you, having a wolf around. When you need me, I can—”

“Do what _you_ need,” Mikko said.

For the first time in days, Mikael gave him a glimmer of a smile. A watery one, but a smile nonetheless. “Okay.”

\--

“Mikko?”

He looked up, and Mikael was there. He was standing on two legs, leaning into the door frame and utterly naked. Mikko stared as Mikael shakily crossed the room and sat his bare ass on the bedcover. “Mikko,” he said again.

Mikko should have scolded Mikael for shifting back, for being in this form that was hard for him. He should have assured him that he was fine. Instead he only kept on staring through new tears, until Mikael pulled him into a hug. Mikko felt as though he was being cracked in two. He held onto Mikael with all his strength and cried into his shoulder—ridiculous, how could he even have any tears left? He cried until he’d cried the ache out, until he was weak with crying.

Finally the tears dried to a trickle. He sat up, feeling mortified and a little light-headed. And still Mikael was there, with arms and blue eyes and a terrible, shaggy head of hair. “You’re here,” Mikko said dumbly.

“Yeah?” Mikael said, smiling carefully.

Mikko couldn’t say the next words. They wouldn’t be fair. He could only look and look until finally he found some other words instead. “You’re naked.”

Mikael chuckled. “Yeah, well.”

Mikko hadn’t heard Mikael laugh in six weeks. “Are you going to get dressed? Or—” But he couldn’t finish.

Mikael’s eyes softened. “Yeah, I’ll put some clothes on.”

Mikko watched as Mikael rooted around in the chest of drawers. Mikko had brought a pair of Mikael’s jeans, just in case, but Mikael resurfaced with a t-shirt and a pair of Mikko’s sweats. It was as he pulled them on that Mikko noticed what he should have seen first thing: the heavy roundness of Mikael’s belly. 

The jeans wouldn’t have fit anyway, Mikko thought. Of course they wouldn’t. How stupid of him to think so.

Mikael caught him looking. “You’re bigger now,” Mikko said.

“Yeah, uh. It happens, right?” Mikael brushed a hand over himself. His bellybutton had popped out. Then his slipped the t-shirt on, and the change was less dramatic—possible to ignore, even, at the right angle. “Hey, do you want some hot cocoa or something? I bet this place has some stocked.”

“Okay,” Mikko said, because he’d have agreed to drink pretty much anything right then if it meant Mikael would, too, out of a mug and not a bowl on the floor.

Mikael led the way to the kitchen and went rummaging through the cupboards, and Mikko sat at the breakfast bar and watched. He didn’t do anything, just drank in the sight of Mikael, who’d gotten his balance back, it looked like, and now moved around the small kitchen with ease. 

At last Mikael had a hot mug in each hand. “It’s instant,” he said, apologetic. “The couch, maybe?” So Mikko sat next to his boyfriend on the couch and sipped cocoa that threatened to burn the tongue. And Mikael still kept _being there_ , like some kind of bye week miracle. Finally Mikko’s mug was empty. Obscurely, he felt a little better. It was the sugar, maybe. Mikael set both mugs aside and pressed closer until his thigh was snug against Mikko’s, and said, “Do you want to talk, maybe?”

“No,” Mikko said. He felt overwarm now, flushed with hot cocoa and embarrassment that he had let himself be overcome by his feelings. Except even now, thinking of Mikael becoming a wolf again made Mikko’s stomach curdle. Mikko hunched miserably into his sweater and wished—well, he didn’t even know what to wish for.

“You were upset,” Mikael said, so carefully, as if Mikko were something fragile. _Handle with care_. “Did something happen? Did you get news from your family, or…?

“Nothing like that,” Mikko said.

“Are you ill? Or injured?”

With every question, Mikko’s shame deepened. “No.”

“Please tell me why you were crying,” Mikael said.

With that simple request, Mikko folded. “I just missed you.”

Mikael blinked at him. “But I’ve—”

“I know, you’ve been here all the time. But it’s not the same, you know? It’s not like I have a partner anymore, a boyfriend. It’s like I have a very large dog. Like a smart dog, but not—not—” But there was no way to soften those words, to make them any better than what they were: the worst thing he could have said. 

Mikael’s face had drained white. “I have to—um—” He pushed to his feet and walked out of the room.

Mikko stared at his hands. Somehow, like a miracle of irrigation, his eyes were growing wet again. Mikko wished he had, just this once, found it in him to deny Mikael what he asked. Perhaps Mikael had gone to call his Twin Cities pack and tell them how Mikko was a species purist just like all the other humans, how he should never have tried to date Mikko in the first place. Perhaps he had left. Home was two hours’ drive; a determined wolf could cross that in three or four days.

Mikko was contemplating that journey, feeling a dark quiver of fear over Mikael making it alone and pregnant—vulnerable to lone wolves and, worse, people with guns—when Mikael came back into the room. His eyes were red. He sat on the couch again, not quite touching this time. Quietly, gaze fixed on the floor, he said, “Is that really how you feel? Or how you’ve felt?”

There seemed little point in lying now, even though Mikko wanted to. “Yes.” 

Mikael nodded to himself.

Mikko tried, “I’m not blaming you. I know you need it. I just—” The last of his resolve crumbled. “I’ve missed you so much. We’re having a baby soon, in barely any time at all, and I can’t talk to you about it, and we got this cabin so you could spend time outdoors, but it’s so quiet here, it’s like I’m all alone. I’m—I’m all alone, Mikael.”

Mikael lifted his gaze at last. Now he was crying, too. He shifted closer and put his arms around Mikko and said, “Mikko, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Mikko said inanely. Obviously it wasn’t okay. 

But Mikael just held tighter, and this time they cried together until the tears ran dry. Even when Mikael’s breath had quieted, he held on. Finally, so softly, he said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I had to take care of you.”

“Mikko,” he said reprovingly.

“I knew when we started dating that it’d be different, that you needed different things. And you’re having a baby,” Mikko said, almost smoothly, as if he were used to the idea now. “I wanted to take care of you.”

“Fuck,” Mikael said, into Mikko’s shoulder. His hold tightened on Mikko’s arm. 

“Can you—” Mikko said, and then almost lost his nerve. “Can you stay the night?”

Mikael’s breath hitched. “Yeah, Mikko. I can do that.”

They moved wordlessly through their bedtime preparations, other than Mikael asking sheepishly if he could borrow Mikko’s toothbrush; of course he didn’t have one of his own. “Are you going to get blood on it, from the steak?” Mikko asked doubtfully.

Mikael made a face. “You know it doesn’t work like that. Um. I mean—well, it doesn’t work like that.”

There were aspects of shapeshifting that Mikko suspected would remain a mystery to him if he and Mikael were still together in their nineties. He did let Mikael use his toothbrush, though. And then they were crawling in bed, and Mikko had another body with him, under the covers. He tucked in close behind Mikael, draping an arm over his waist. 

Mikael stiffened, and it was only then that Mikko realized he’d brushed his fingers against Mikael’s belly. “Can I?” Mikko asked.

“If you want,” Mikael said.

Mikko heard a tremor of uncertainty there, and his heart ached. He splayed his fingers carefully over the warm swell of Mikael’s belly. Mikael shivered under his palm. “All right?” Mikko asked.

“It’s different like this. It feels different.”

Mikko rubbed a careful circle, mapping this unfamiliar terrain. He found the nub of Mikael’s navel, poking out, and Mikael shivered again. Mikael was right; it was very different from stroking Mikael’s long, hairy wolf sides. It was strange, when his Mikael had never been shaped like this before, but the smell of his hair in Mikko’s nose and his warmth against Mikko’s chest were so familiar it felt like a kind of pain behind his breastbone. “I missed you,” he confessed again, in the dark.

Mikael squeezed his hand. “I missed this.”

“What about tomorrow?” Mikko said, afraid to ask and yet unable to keep it in any longer. “You’ll need to be a wolf again.”

“For a little while, but I think—it’s really quiet here. I think maybe I can mostly stay in this form while we’re here. For a few days, anyway.”

“You think so?” Mikko said, almost afraid to hope.

“Yeah. I know you got this place so I could run around—”

“This is better,” Mikko blurted, before he could soften the words. Mikael only hummed, playing his thumb back and forth over Mikko’s knuckles.

“And we could fuck,” Mikael added. “I mean—if you want—”

Mikko cupped Mikael’s belly, swelling with promise of a future that Mikko had been unable to even conceptualize until now, when he could feel it under his palm. “Yes,” he said.

“Okay,” Mikael breathed. He slumped against Mikko then, relaxing finally from tension Mikko hadn’t even recognized until now. Mikko pressed his hand to Mikael’s chest—softer now, and that, too, was something to explore tomorrow. He kissed Mikael’s shaggy hair, and listened to the slowing of Mikael’s breath, and then, finally, he let sleep take him.

[end]


End file.
